User blog:WayfinderOwl/BTM: Who Needs Friends (I'm Rich) 1
"Who knew preying on the weaker kids could be that lucrative? Who knew that dear old scamming Mom and Dad would be my way in to the most spoiled and pampered clique in the school. Instead of doing all the hard work, I can sit back pay someone else to do all the hard work for me. Having the hottest girls in the school suddenly interested in a con artist's son is a perk I am yet to become accustomed to, but the one girl I want may just land me back at the loser table, listening to an insomniac and a video game geek try to be cool." Condecension & Arrogance The worst kind of narcissist, is a narcissist who doesn’t even know he is one. That was Derby Harrington. Only thing he loved more than himself was a project. That was me. After being abducted from my dorm at eight o’clock in the morning by three preps on a mission, I was whisked out of the school gates into Derby’s limo for a day of shopping and preparing me for the high standards of the prep. Telling them that I had only just woken up five minutes before meant nothing to them, especially the fact that I was still wearing the same clothes as the night before. The limo sped towards Old Bullworth Vale plaza. Parking in the alley near the Glass Jaw Boxing Gym. Bif—a big kid with auburn hair who served as Derby’s body guard—and Parker, a black haired boy with serious crazy eyes, pulled me out of the limo. First place was Vale Footwear. Pinky took the reins, picking out a good pair of shoes for me to wear. She was adamant that I would leave the store wearing them. Next was Aquaberry, where I spent the whole trip in the changing rooms. Apparently there was a new blue pastel argyle button up sweater, that all the preps just had to have for their uniform. A sweater, slacks, socks, even boxers, were passed through the curtain. I emerged from the changing room in my new uniform feeling like less of a person and more of a doll. They were all there waiting for me. I squirmed under their scrutinizing glare. “Not bad,” said Gord. A brown haired boy, who was having quite an open affair with Lola Lombardi. “There is something missing.” Pinky slipped an expensive gold watch around my wrist. “A good outfit always needs accessories!” “There is still something not quite right,” Gord muttered. “You are quite right, Gord,” Derby agreed. “Until he is properly groomed, he will be more mongrel than pedigree. To Old Bullworth Vale Hair, Nails and Beauty!” Just like that, I was whisked off yet again, dumped into a salon chair. Plucked, tweezed, and more or less tortured with beauty products. I had absolutely no say in what was going on what so ever. Whenever the beautician offered a treatment, such as an exfoliating face skin peel, and I declined, Derby would speak up, and tell her to go ahead and do it. She followed his orders. Leaving the store with my hair trimmed, face peeled, nails—both toe and finger—clipped, buffed and a coat of clear nail polish, I felt like such a girl. All I needed was lipstick and a dress. The crowd dispersed, with orders from Derby to meet up in the park in two hours. Derby and Pinky took me to a little coffee shop named Old Bullworth Vale Coffeehouse. We sat in a corner, not drinking coffee like everyone else—that would be the normal thing to do. Our beverage was a sugarless cup of tea. “Remember, Josh,” said Derby, holding his cup with his little finger extended. “The ignoramuses of this town drink coffee. We are refined and cultured.” “Yeah, right,” I said, picking up my empty cup. Pinky point blank refused to pour me a cup, until I had perfected the right way to hold it. Only when I started coughing due to dry throat, did she surrender and allow me to drink some. For my breakfast, I had to make do with a biscotti, because apparently we had places to be. Only in the park was I allowed to sit down and relax. The whole day a whirlwind. Being dragged all over the place, and dressed up in the finest clothes and treatments money could buy. Not that I had to spend a dime. Whenever money was involved, Derby presented a credit card. The store clerks couldn’t bend over backwards fast enough. Bryce presented me with a leather bound day planner. He was a boy with brown hair. Had not spoken to me directly, I never would have noticed him. He blended way too easily into the crowd. “What is that for?” I asked. “For your schedule. We have to be seen to be busy. All your classes and how the poor folk put it “hanging out” should be documented right here.” “Thank you,” I said, wondering when I would ever actually use it. “Never thank anyone,” said Derby. “What he did was his job.” My enthusiasm for this deal was starting to dissuade. If this was just day one, there was no way I could put up with a lifetime of this. The limo awaited us on the street, to take us all back to Bullworth. As I emerged in my uniform at the wrought iron gates, I finally understood the appeal of being a prep. Derby made sure I stood to his left. The right was reserved for his second Bif. Kids stood staring at us with awe, as if we were the closest they would get to real life celebrities. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed being under the watchful eye of a crowd. Kids moved out of our way, casting jealous glances wishing they were in our place. Hot girls hoping to catch the eye of one of us boys. The jocks may get all the girls for the whole looks and lust thing, but really the girls wanted a prep. After all, the preps were the millionaires right out of school. Near the school building, out of instinct I veered off. Everyone in the clique looked at me like I was insane. “What are you doing?” asked Tad. His fake British accent cracked a little in the middle. “We were going to eat dinner?” I said, doubting my own words. Derby let out a condescending chortle. “Us, eat that swill? Unlikely. Our meal is all ready waiting for us.” Feeling like an idiot, I walked along with them. Past the library, the self conscious insecurity got to me. Kids just stopped what they were doing to watch us. Eyes following us where ever we went. They probably thought what is that mongrel doing with them? Through the doors to Harrington house, the staring finally stopped. Some maids hurried around—most likely under Mr. Harrington’s employment—arranging tables with white cloths, arranging fancy meals that to me looked like an autopsy table fancied up with sauces and herbs. Again, I went to sit, but this was wrong. Derby placed his hand on my shoulder and shook his head. Pinky and Derby lead me up the stairs to another larger drawing room with couches, a large television, card tables. The room was decorated with truly expensive and fancier décor. The fancier the better. I had a bet with myself that I knew I would win. The money spent on this whole room alone could probably pay the rent of everyone living in New Coventry for the next twenty years. Out onto a second floor terrace, up some stairs to a roof patio with an indoor green house. From the moment we entered the second floor drawing room, Derby explained how things worked. “Us dine with them? Such words are a joke at best.” “But they are your friends,” I said. Derby let out another chortle. “Aside from Bif, they are nothing but a walking Aquaberry sweater to met our fraternity quota. Without them, I would have to reside in that dingy hole they call a Boys Dorm. One thing you have to learn in this life Josh, no matter where you go, or what you do, regardless of similar living circumstances, classes will always hold rank. We are all wealthy, sons of lawyers, industry moguls, or business CEOs. No matter of our similarities, some more than others are just better.” “That is you,” I assumed he was going with this. “That is correct,” Derby replied. He pushed open the wooden framed glass doors to the greenhouse. There were rows of boxes and plant pots big enough to hide in. A sea of green and flowers of all colors spread across the plant boxes. Dramatically, Derby raised his arms, framing my vision of a large fly trap. “Crapula Maxima Fortissima! The very best in Venus flytraps. Only one of two in all of North America.” And the other grew in Dr. Slawter’s classroom, he neglected to add. Surrounded by plant boxes was a round table set for three. A maid came up to serve the food. Looking at my plate, I instantly lost my appetite. Unable to get the words ‘autopsy table’ out of my head, I picked around it, and deposited most of it in the napkin on my lap. There was no conversation flowing what-so-ever. ^^^^ I left Harrington house starving hungry. Pete was sat at the edge of the fountain, holding a takeaway bag for Burger. I could have kissed him. I didn’t though. “I had a hunch,” said Pete. “Thanks Pete, I’m starving. All I’ve had is a biscotti all day.” Wasting no time, I ripped open the bag an bit into the hamburger. “Oh, my god, this is heaven in burger form.” “It’s not that good,” Pete said. “Compared to the Burger Shot burgers, kinda gross, but considering the fact that I spent the last hour looking at a plate that could only be described as an autopsy organ tray, this is like ambrosia straight from Olympus.” Pete laughed. We headed towards the school building. “How was it?” said Pete, taking the day planner from me, so I could properly enjoy the burger. “It sucked,” I said, with a mouthful of food. I chewed, and swallowed. “I got abducted from the dorm, dragged out to Old Bullworth Vale plaza, while they dressed me like a doll and had the beautician go at me with practically every service they offered.” “Well, they did the job right. You do look every bit a prep.” “I dunno how long I can put up with this, Pete,” I admitted. “Well, this is what you wanted.” “Yeah, true, but well, I’m not used to it. Anyway, how is the gang?” “I wouldn’t know.” I stopped, turned and looked to him frowning. “Turns out they were only talking to me because of you,” Pete explained. “Screw them. Pete, we have the good life now.” Category:Blog posts Category:WayfinderOwl's Fanfiction